Gossamer Threads
by Canimal
Summary: "Do you ever dream about going back in time to fix all of the wrongs, Draco?" A twist of fate dropped them in the past with the ability to do whatever they wish. Forced to work together to survive, they must exist in a constant state of danger and uncertainty. One single snap of the delicate threads they've woven would have untold consequences for everyone.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note:_****_ Yeah, yeah, I know. Another one. This story wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. As always when it comes to any of my stories, expect angst and drama and dark themes. Also expect flawed human beings. I write messy, flawed, neurotic, emotional, imperfect _****_BOOK_****_-Hermione who cried _****_at least_****_ 71 times in canon, NOT crappy movie-Hermione who is all-powerful and can do no wrong. Don't even get me started on my hatred of the movies and how they ruined her character. If you haven't read the books and are basing your idea of how Hermione should behave solely on the movies, you probably won't like her in this story or any other story I write. And if you haven't read the books… READ THE BOOKS! Can't stress that enough. _**

**_This story will deal with Adult themes including violence, murder, complicated sexual situations, not-so-complicated sexual situations, general naughty behavior, and extra bad terrible homicidal behavior. It's Dark. Maybe not as Dark as some I've written, but still not all happiness and sunshine. There will be no further warnings._**

**_Also, expect a slow, _****slow****_ burn. Sorry. ;)_**

* * *

Chapter One

As much as he tried to avoid her, he always seemed to find her in quiet, empty parts of the castle. Usually he was able to slip away without her even noticing he was near, but sometimes his feet weren't quick enough or he was too lost in his own thoughts to realize she was there until it was too late. When that happened, she offered him a polite, if a bit tense, smile and asked him a question about one of the day's lessons they shared. Still unsure how to behave around her following all they had gone through, he would give her a short answer and make an excuse to leave immediately. Never once since they returned had she been the least bit rude to him even though she had every right to rip his heart out through his stomach with her bare hands or, at the very least, pin him to the ground under a Cruciatus use just as his aunt had done. He didn't know what to think of a person who didn't take their revenge when it was offered. _Bloody noble Gryffindors._

Draco didn't want to return to Hogwarts for another year. If it had been entirely his decision, he would've hidden himself away from the rest of the wizarding world until the name Malfoy was well and truly forgotten. Not, of course, that that was likely to ever happen. His family would go down in history as the infamous supporters of a madman. Even their home was irrevocably tarnished by the memory of the horrible wizard who ruined his life and the lives of everyone he loved. Given the opportunity, he would've gladly burned the cursed structure to the ground. It would never be a refuge, a source of comfort for him again. Especially not after the horror he witnessed in the dining room or the echoes of the screams still haunting the drawing room. He couldn't bear to enter that room, not after the night _she_ was tortured. Too many horrible memories permeated the very walls of the manor. Never again would he find peace in it.

But, sadly, hiding away as a recluse in some other long-neglected Malfoy property wasn't an option where his mother was concerned. She wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and life could go on as it once did. Despite the house arrests all three members of the family were subjected to and the never-ending trials where they were required to give testimony, she thought it was possible to get their former lives back. Draco understood quite a bit about denial, but his mother carried hers to another level. His education was of the utmost importance and because he'd spent too much of the previous year instructed by dangerous imbeciles who had no business being around children, she wanted him to start his seventh year over from the very beginning.

He wasn't the only one who made the decision to return to redo that awful year. There were many familiar faces on Platform 9 3/4. Though it was difficult being around such a large number of people who loathed the very ground he walked on, Draco was proud of the fact that he was somehow able to make his way to the Hogwarts Express with his head held high. Hiding might've been easier, but as long as he was in public, he didn't want to seem defeated. After settling into an empty compartment in the very back of the train, he was left alone by all who knew him. Being seen with a traitorous, deceitful Malfoy wasn't good for anyone, no matter the side they fought on during the war. In the end, only two terrified first years with nowhere else to sit passed the journey with him. By the sound of their conversation he pretended to not hear, they were both Muggle-Borns with no clue that the likes of him were best avoided.

His reception in the dungeons had been chilly to put it mildly. Not only had Draco distanced himself from everyone in his House over the previous two years, he was personally responsible for many of his fellow Slytherins' parents being locked up in Azkaban. Or at least that's how it felt following so many days of testimony during so many trials. No one would ever forgive him for daring to save his own skin. Likely any future children or grandchildren he might have wouldn't be welcome in their homes. The Malfoys were finished in polite society. At least where Slytherins were concerned and who else truly mattered?

It bothered him to realize that he'd never truly made any friends in his life. At least none that stood the test of time. What was that trite saying that was supposed to give a person comfort in trying times? _You learn who your true friends are when life gets tough._ Something ridiculous like that. Unfortunately there was an uncomfortable amount of truth in it too. None of the cronies he'd collected in school wanted anything to do with him. They were either dead like Vince or not speaking to him. Even Theo Nott who once swore when they were eight that they'd be friends forever hadn't lifted a quill to send him an owl. It wasn't anything worse than he deserved. He was lucky that he wasn't wasting away in Azkaban or dead at the end of an Auror's wand.

Hogwarts offered him plenty of quiet places to hide away from those who wished he wasn't there. Determined not to give Headmistress McGonagall a single reason to be cross with him, Draco made sure that he was in every lesson on time ready to listen politely to his professors and completed his required schoolwork without complaint. If he'd adopted the same attitude and determination all of the other years he'd attended school, he would have been a model student. Maybe he would've even been able to give _her_ a fierce fight for top marks. When he wasn't in class or quietly writing his essays in an empty nook in the library, he roamed the familiar corridors.

Winter arrived early at Hogwarts. Cold winds swirled the first snow of the season around the grounds. Classes had only been in session a little over two months, but already there was a chill in the stone castle that made heavy jumpers necessary even inside. Draco preferred that weather over a bright, sunny, warm day. Being cold and dismal suited his present mood just fine. With all of his homework done for the weekend that morning, he had the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday to waste. Unable to keep his attention focused on a book, he chose to wander around the castle instead. Mostly quiet due to it being a Hogsmeade weekend, he was grateful for a chance to stretch his legs without fear of running into a crowd of students who hated him.

Only mid-November and he was already unsure how he was going to make it to June. Time passed too slowly. Every single day felt like a lifetime dragged on and on. The promise he made to his mother seemed impossible to keep. Perhaps he's been too compliant, too eager to put a smile back on her weary face when he agreed to redo his seventh year. Surely just sitting for and passing his NEWTs would've been enough to make her proud. He felt confident he could do fairly well on his exams if he was allowed to just go ahead and take them. Well enough for a wizard whose only life ambition was to hide away in the privacy of his own home anyway. Who needed multiple NEWTs for that sort of wasted existence?

The sound of soft sniffling coming from the end of the corridor tore him out of his thoughts. Without even realizing it, he'd managed to wander towards the ruined remains of the Room of Requirement. Months after Vince was responsible for burning it to ashes with his idiotic Fiendfyre spell, the castle still hadn't repaired itself. He didn't know why he so often wandered past the bit of wall where the door once stood. Likely it was yet another way he managed to self-consciously torture himself for the part he played in the war. Knowing that there was a hidden alcove behind a tapestry near the room he moved inexplicably towards it.

He should've just left the sound alone. Clearly it belonged to someone who wished to be by themselves or they would've sought out one of their friends or made a public spectacle of themselves in the Great Hall. Draco would never understand the overly emotional witches who wailed at every little bother as if anyone was supposed to care that they were upset. He had enough of his own problems to worry about. But instead of turning in the opposite direction and minding his own business, he reached for the tapestry and pulled it aside.

_She_ was there. Seated on a stone bench holding a piece of parchment in her hands, Hermione Granger rubbed at her eyes in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she'd been crying. He rolled his eyes. It was hardly the first time he'd ever surprised her when she was trying to hide and cry in the castle. Six years at Hogwarts together gave him plenty of opportunities to find her in the same state.

"Bad news from Weaselbee?"

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. What happened to his plan to avoid the woman whenever possible for the rest of his life? And whatever possessed him to actually _tease_ her? Wishing to be anywhere but there, he turned to make his escape.

"Wait…"

Against his wishes, his feet stayed put at her gentle request.

"Why would you ask me about Ron?"

"Wasn't he usually the reason you hid in the castle to cry?"

The next few moments were uncomfortable as she stared at him with an intensity that made him fearful she was about to hex him in his bits. He still didn't understand why he said anything to her at all or why he even sought out the source of the sniffling he heard. Just as he readied himself for pain, he was startled by a snort and a giggle instead.

"Well, I won't say that you're entirely wrong about him, but no, he's not the reason I was upset."

"What's wrong?"

Again he wished he could rip his own tongue out of his head. _Why_ was he still standing there willingly engaging in conversation with the witch? She had every reason to hate him just as much as he hated himself. He'd made her life miserable for years and _liked_ it. And after that horrible night in his home when she was tortured by his aunt, she should've cursed the ground he dared walk upon.

"I didn't think there would be anyone in here. Thought they would all be in Hogsmeade."

"So did I."

Her refusal to answer his question immediately wasn't a surprise. It wasn't any of his business and he'd been in the wrong to ask. Just as he decided to make his escape, she pushed the piece of parchment into his hands. Surprised, but rooted to the spot, he read through the few simple lines twice and still didn't understand what they meant.

_Memory charm expert. St. Mungo's. Australia. Regret to inform. Nothing could be done. _

Confusion must have been evident on his face. She pulled the parchment back, dropping her reddened eyes as she did so. There was no denying that she was embarrassed. Draco debated whether or not he should run. They weren't friends. It was incredible that she bothered to speak to him at all. No one else did. He was afraid he was making her more uncomfortable. For a reason he didn't fully understand, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"My parents are in Australia with no memory of my existence and that's unlikely ever to change."

He had no idea what he was supposed to say in the seconds after her confession. _Was_ he supposed to say something? Not only was he shocked that she was opening up to him about _anything _personal in her life, he didn't understand a word she said. How was it possible that her parents would abandon her for a foreign country thousands of kilometers away and completely forget she was alive? Draco would be the first one to admit that he knew very little about Muggles and their parenting methods, but surely that was odd?

The tears that she'd managed to stop moments before he intruded renewed at a furious rate. It took every effort on his part to keep from rolling his eyes at the display. Granger cried more than any two, possibly _three,_ Slytherin witches combined. She might've thought she was clever seeking out dark corners and hidden spaces in the castle to shed her tears, but she wasn't. Her seemingly incessant tears weren't a secret from anyone, except for perhaps unobservant Potter. He never really seemed to know what was going on with his best friend. Perhaps he was too focused on his own worries to give much of a care or notice to those who supported him without question.

Draco learned the valuable lesson at an early age that emotions were weaknesses. And weaknesses could be easily exploited. He especially understood that after that blasted year he spent trying to figure out how he was going to murder the Headmaster, the only wizard his former master ever feared. Crying in the lavatory almost cost him his life when Potter walked in on him in a particularly weak moment. Of course, at the time, Draco would've welcomed the sweet release of death. He'd lived in constant fear and worry for so long that he didn't even concern himself with the unknown of the afterlife. _Anything_ had to have been better than what he was already enduring. He was glad that he'd recovered from that dismal year. Never again would anyone find him in a vulnerable moment such as that. No matter what, he would never allow himself to shed another tear.

Granger would have done well to try the same. He never understood why there were so many who believed that she was some sort of infallible being who never lost her composure and always had the answer. For six years he'd seen her try to hide her frequent bouts of crying in her sleeves or behind the massive books she never went anywhere without. One year because he was curious about her for some reason he could never quite figure out, he attempted to keep a running count of the number of times the stress of being an overachiever or a student in too many classes or a friend to the two least sympathetic buffoons caused her to break down in a fit of emotion. He made it past seventy and decided that he needed to find a new way to pass his time. Eventually he would reach a number too high to count. Perhaps those idiots only knew her from an inaccurate portrayal in the newspapers. Everyone was so quick to ignore the flaws of a heroine even when they were very much on display.

"I'm terribly sorry. You don't need to know about my troubles. Surely you have enough of your own."

She was right, of course, but he didn't want to consider the details. Thinking about someone else actually made his own worries fade into the background. While he was certain that the effects were only temporary and walking away from her would bring them back to the forefront of his mind, Draco found he was in no hurry to leave the crying witch. She fascinated him in a way she had no right.

"The worst of my troubles are over, but it seems as if yours are just beginning."

He didn't know where his observation came from or why he was still there at all. Granger's brown eyes filled up with thick tears again. Without thinking, Draco reached into his pocket to offer her a clean handkerchief. His grandfather once told him when he was a small boy that a proper gentleman always carried two handkerchiefs in his pocket. One was for his own use, and the other should always be kept clean in case a lady present should require use of it. Abraxas Malfoy was full to bursting with antiquated notions and customs that had no place in a modern society. That one, however, stuck with his only grandson and he was pleased to remember that he'd had cause to use the second handkerchief to his advantage a few times in his past. The corner of his lip threatened to twist into a full smirk at the thought of one particular emotional Hufflepuff he'd had the opportunity to console more than once.

"Thank you. I really don't know why I'm crying. It's not as if I didn't expect this might be a possibility when I…"

Whatever she was about to say next was abruptly cut off by the closing of her mouth. Perhaps she finally realized just what horrid beast she was actually speaking to. A moment of clarity must have finally struck the witch. Soon she would push past him, run away to hide somewhere he couldn't follow, and then never look at him again. Draco wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed. Damn the witch made him confused.

But she didn't run. Instead, she merely moved to the edge of the bench. With a wave of her hand she offered him the opportunity to take a seat beside her. Too far gone into the experience to not sate his own curiosity, Draco obliged. When he was seated, she began offering him snippets of what he was sure was a fascinating tale. Maybe one day she would tell him everything. Or she would obliviate him for already knowing too much.

"My parents didn't understand the danger I was in or how frightening and unwelcoming this world can be for a Muggle-Born."

He made no move to contradict her statement even as she silently dared him with a bold look in her eyes to try. There was no need. Everything she said was correct. The wizarding world was _not_ a kind place for those deemed to be unworthy to exist inside it. Though every witch and wizard had a different opinion and standard of measurement to determine what they believed a real witch or wizard was, they could all be quite hostile in their own way to outsiders. He'd witnessed firsthand how cruel they could be. The image of the poor Muggle Studies teacher crashing to his dining room table flashed into his mind. Though it would haunt him for the rest of his days, he hadn't been able to look away when the damned snake fed on the woman whose only crime was the audacity to proclaim that Muggles weren't scum.

"When I knew I couldn't come back to the castle because I would be in danger, I was afraid of what might happen to my parents. They were ignorant and oblivious. I feared that some horrible Death Eaters would end up on their doorstep and before they even knew what was happening, they would be dead."

A sinking in Draco's gut followed her mention of the Death Eaters. Would he spend the rest of his life cringing every time he thought about the group he'd been forced to join against his will? He was embarrassed and ashamed of the acts he'd committed in their name and if he was honest, he really hadn't done that much. It was enough though.

"I did the only thing I could think of that _might_ keep them safe. I read about a memory modification charm in a book. I was so _stupid_ to try it myself. When will I learn that you can't learn everything just by reading it from a book?"

She dabbed at her eyes with Draco's handkerchief. The churning guilt in the pit of his stomach only increased with each sentence she uttered. How frightened must she have really been to do something so drastic and possibly permanent? He'd been afraid half out of his mind, but not enough to go through with what she did.

"It's a long, terrible story, but basically I removed my parents' memories of ever having a child, modified their remaining memories to think that they were different people who always had a dream of moving to Australia, and left them. They moved to Australia before any danger. I'd _hoped_ that when the war was over I could find them and restore their memories, but I wasn't able to. Kingsley… _Minister_ Shacklebolt offered to help. He sent the best Healers from St. Mungo's with extensive experience in charm damage and memory spells to see if they could reverse what I did. They weren't able to. My parents will never remember I exist."

The last sentence was spoken with such a harsh finality that even Draco felt the heavy emotions of disappointment and regret. Muggles never meant much to him, but clearly they meant something to Granger. She'd been determined in her quest to keep her parents safe. Would she spend the rest of her life regretting her decision? Fearing that it had been all for naught? Still unsure why he was even bothering to continue to listen to her, Draco had the overwhelming urge to put her mind at ease.

"The Dark Lord ordered your parents tortured until they revealed where you were."

Her soft gasp filled the hidden niche. Draco could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears as he waited for her to say something, _anything_ in response to his announcement. It was a believable lie. Certainly it was the exact sort of dreadful act that the Dark Lord would've ordered. Maybe he even truly did, but Draco wasn't there to witness it. He didn't know why he was lying to the poor girl, but when she didn't respond, he couldn't stop.

"I heard it when he was at the manor. He'd gathered us all around the dining room table for one of his meetings. It was just after the Weasley wedding and after you and the others got away from Rowle and Dolohov. Incompetent idiots. I hate them."

He would never forgive Thorfinn Rowle for failing so thoroughly in his attempt to capture the Chosen One that he was forced to curse him with the Cruciatus until the charm blocking his memories of the event was broken. Up until that moment, Draco hadn't had to cast his second Unforgivable. After his repeated use of the Imperius Curse during sixth year, he'd hoped very much to be able to go through the rest of his life without casting another. But thanks to Rowle's bumbling ineptitude and Dolohov's failure to think calmly when his rage was up, he'd cursed them both at the demand of their master. Just as he would never get the sound of _her_ screaming out of his head, he would go to his grave still hearing theirs.

"The Dark Lord ordered that the worst of the worst go to your parents' house and make sure they told them everything about where you were or where you were going. When they had what they needed, they were ordered to 'make it hurt'."

Silent tears streamed down her cheeks that even his handkerchief wasn't enough to capture them all. What he told her would hurt in the beginning, but maybe if she was lucky, she could learn to be grateful for what she did to her parents.

"You saved their lives, Granger. You saved them from a terrible fate. That should bring you at least some comfort."

He couldn't bear to sit there another moment longer lying to the poor girl. Even a disgraced Slytherin and former Death Eater had his own sense of honor. Battered though it may be, he knew he couldn't keep up the charade. Standing to his feet, he was only able to make it one step before he felt her grasp his hand in hers.

"Do you ever dream about going back in time to fix all of the wrongs, Draco?"

Sighing, he turned to stare in her eyes. Of course he'd laid in bed at night wishing and hoping that he could find a way to change it all. It was madness. All that thinking would do was lead him down a path to insanity and regret.

"No, I haven't. It's impossible."

"But what if it wasn't?"

Draco refused to hear another word. Dropping her hand without even bothering to be gentle, he escaped. His feet didn't stop moving until he was back inside the safety of his dorm down in the dungeons.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hermione longed for the world to open up a giant hole and swallow her until there was no trace of her existence. How could she be so foolish to unburden herself in the presence of Draco Malfoy, of all people? He _hated_ her. Hadn't he proven that for six continuous years? And if she was somehow able to forget that tumultuous time, she knew based on how he reacted every single time she talked to him when they came back for their seventh year that he still felt the same.

As she watched him run out of the hidden alcove like his trousers were on fire, she wished she had just kept her mouth shut. While she didn't _think_ that he would use the knowledge she told him against her, she really didn't know the wizard. She never really had. They were just rivals from different Houses who longed to make the other miserable. She didn't know what possessed her to speak, to babble out the intimate details of her largest regret to someone who likely still wished she was dead.

When she returned to Hogwarts for her final year to discover that Draco Malfoy had too, she almost turned around at the gates and run away. How was she supposed to get through the entire year knowing he was under the same roof? She couldn't even look at him without thinking about what his aunt did to her that dreadful night. Though they itched no other time, the scars Bellatrix left her with burned when he was nearby. Could she ever forgive him for standing by and doing _nothing_ when she was at the complete mercy of a mad woman?

Her mother sermonized at length about the importance of forgiving someone who'd done wrong. There had been plenty of opportunities to put her mum's words into practical use in her life. First with the Muggles in their neighborhood who didn't want to play with the "weird Granger girl". Even after she found out she was a witch and she made friends with others like her, she was still subjected to terrible situations where she had to learn how to forgive.

_"__Remember, love, that not forgiving someone for a wrong they've done you is like drinking poison yourself hoping they'll die. We don't forgive them for their sake, but for _ours_."_

Her mother was full of other sentiments just like those. Hermione had heard them all at least a thousand times. Would her mum still harp on and on about forgiveness if she knew what her own daughter had been subjected to while she lived ignorant and blissful in Australia? Would her mother be able to forgive _her_ if she knew what her daughter put her through just to protect her? She labored with that question for months. In the end, she decided that, _yes_, her mother would've forgiven her. Maybe not at first, but Hermione couldn't blame her. Eventually, however, she would've.

Forgiveness was a process. It wasn't as simple as just making the decision to forgive a person one time and then never feeling angry again. No, if a person _truly_ wanted to forgive another for the wrongs they caused, the choice had to made over and over again. Some days were easier than others.

While she laid in bed in Shell Cottage still very much in pain from their unwanted excursion to Malfoy Manor, Hermione swore to herself that she would hold on to the hatred that coursed through her veins with every beat of her heart. Sheer hatred was going to give her the strength she needed to get through the hells of war and give her what she needed to wreak her vengeance. Every member of the Malfoy family was going to feel her wrath and fury. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to writhe under _her_ wand and Fenrir Greyback was going to beg for _her_ mercy before all was said and done. As she lay there in agony with her wounds burning and her humiliation still fresh, she longed for her revenge.

But the end of the war changed a great deal in her beating heart of stone. Watching Bellatrix die at Molly Weasley's hands softened her anger. Seeing Greyback's broken body lying on the castle grounds when the fighting stopped also helped. Perhaps the most moving scene she witnessed during the entire ordeal of the final battle was seeing Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy rush into the worst of the fighting unarmed and with no thoughts for their own safety desperate to find their son. It was evident that though they were flawed, miserable people, they possessed great capacity for true love. Their remaining behind in the Great Hall with Draco when it was all over spoke even more highly of them. Instead of skulking away like all of the other Death Eaters when it was obvious their side lost, they chose to remain together as a family and take whatever punishment was meant for them together. Much of the desire she once had to see them all broken and bloody dissipated seeing them as a loving family that could've so easily resembled her own. True monsters with no hope of redemption couldn't _really_ love, could they?

It was much easier to try to forgive Draco for all of his crimes than his parents. As soon as Hermione heard the whispers on the train that he'd returned she knew she couldn't keep holding on to her anger. Not with him passing her in the castle multiple times a day for the better part of a year. She would go absolutely mad and there were already times she feared that process had begun. Draco's actions could be forgiven because he was a child living in a dangerous world he had no business being a part of because his parents made poor, dreadful decisions before and after he was born. His parents were adults who allowed their innocent son to fight in a war they helped start. Some actions could never be forgiven. It was easier to hold on to her anger where they were concerned because she didn't have to ever see them. If she was lucky, she would go the rest of her life without being forced into their presence again.

Draco was another story. The first few days back in the castle had been tense and uncomfortable for many reasons. Being back in the place where she'd personally witnessed so many of her loved ones die was traumatic to say the least. Every step she took further and further into the familiar castle reminded her of that horrible day. She had to remind herself to breathe. Seeing Draco again made her feel all at once that nothing in her life had changed and yet _everything_ had. She couldn't explain it. Maybe she was just overwhelmed by her return and all of the heavy emotions swirling inside her, but she couldn't deny that even if it proved impossible, she _wanted_ to forgive him. Even just the thought of continuing to carry around the hatred she felt for the wizard for so many years threatened to choke the very life out of her.

The first day of their lessons was the first test of her true resolve to really forgive him. She had to make the conscious choice to try even when it was much easier to harass him or even just ignore his existence. No one wanted to sit in the open seat next to him in Potions. Though he acted as if the awkward whispers around him didn't bother him in the slightest, Hermione could see the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Before she could talk herself out of her rash decision, Hermione sat down in the empty seat. All whispering stopped. She could feel the eyes of every soul in the room on her. None of them seemed as confused by her actions as Draco. In previous years of Potions lessons, being forced to sit next to Draco had been a punishment, not something she would've done willingly. Fearing that she might change her mind, Hermione turned to Draco, acting as if what she'd done was the most normal act in the world.

"I'm excited to see which potions we're going to learn this year. Professor Slughorn assured me last night that we have some interesting ones to learn for our NEWT."

Draco continued to stare at her as if she was speaking a foreign language he didn't understand or that she'd grown a second head. She didn't cease babbling about potions she hoped they would get to brew until Professor Slughorn began the lesson. Never had she been so thankful to see the professor. She made it a point in each lesson from then on to share Draco's table in Potions and offer friendly bits of conversation when she bumped into him around the castle. He rarely said much in reply beyond one to two words. Not that she really expected him to. She thought herself at least half-mad that she spoke to him at all.

There were days when she would've rather curse him in the face than be even coldly polite, but Hermione could never forget her mother's words. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life struggling with the hatred that threatened to consume her if she gave it a chance. If she didn't figure out a way to defuse it, she knew she would morph into a horrible, bitter person that no one would want to be around. Considering the depressing reality that she already struggled with making friends and getting people to like her, she didn't want to risk it. And more importantly, the thought of allowing herself to remain miserable made her wonder if life was even worth living. On the days she wrestled with her anger, she tried extra hard to be kind and polite and forgiving simply out of necessity.

When Draco pulled back the tapestry covering her hiding place, she had an _Avada_ on the tip of her tongue. How dare he interrupt her in such a private moment? She still hadn't completely come to terms with what she read in Kingsley's letter. For the rest of her life she would be grateful for the new Minister for Magic's help. He had been horrified to learn the desperate act she'd committed to keep her innocent Muggle parents out of danger. When she burst into tears over a cup of tea in the chaotic days following the end of the battle, the seasoned auror who could face down Voldemort himself without flinching seemed at a loss how to comfort the crying witch. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder as the details tumbled out of her mouth. By the end of her tale, Kingsley held her tightly to his chest and made her a promise through his emotion-soaked voice to do whatever he could do to help her parents.

Even the full might of the Ministry of Magic could do nothing to fix her mistake. Hermione would never forgive herself. She was perfectly fine wallowing in her grief, but then Malfoy had to ruin it. Why didn't he run way as soon as he learned she was the one sniffling in an empty corridor instead of enjoying her Saturday in the village? If the roles were reversed, she was sure she would've offered a clumsy apology and run. Certainly she wouldn't have stuck around long enough to boldly ask him what was the matter.

Only the sheer shock that Draco Malfoy was speaking to _her_ on purpose loosened Hermione's tongue. She was embarrassed to tell him anything, but once she started, she couldn't stop. When he didn't ridicule her or insult her, she didn't know how to proceed. The barb about Ron had been meant kindly. She could hear actual concern in his tone even as he attempted to make a joke. Where was the boy who used to torment her with words like "Mudblood" or who lived to mock her in front of crowds just for a laugh? Evidently the war changed them all.

It took every bit of personal strength she possessed to keep from breaking down into an emotional puddle of tears when he told her that her parents had been targeted by Voldemort and his goons. Of course she suspected that was a possibility. That was why she'd taken such drastic measures to ensure their safety after all. Did he understand how much she needed to know that she'd done the right thing? Only a miracle of biblical proportions would've been able to keep them alive after a visit from the most dangerous Death Eaters. Her parents didn't even know such homicidal creatures existed. They wouldn't have known how much trouble they were in. Draco all but told her she'd done the right thing to keep her parents safe. It was exactly what she needed to hear to at least start the process of forgiving herself for her actions, forgiving herself for her mistake.

So much relief flooded through her that she just needed simple human touch to remind herself that she wasn't dreaming. Though it had been yet another rash decision in a long series of others, she didn't even try to talk herself out of grabbing Draco's hand. What he must have thought of her was anybody's guess. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Feeling the warmth of another person's flesh grounded her, helped her to remember to take another breath.

Her question about changing the past came out of nowhere. She wasn't sure why she asked it at all. It was just something that had been eating away at her guts for weeks. Ever since she discovered that she wasn't going to be able to restore her parents' memories on her own she thought about how she wished she could go back in time to change everything. She would've been more upfront and honest with them about the dangers of the world they couldn't be a part of. Maybe they would've insisted that she leave it all behind, but at least she wouldn't have been living a lie for so many years. And if she was perfectly honest with herself, perhaps snapping her wand in half and living the rest of her life as a Muggle would've been easier. As much as she loved learning about magic and had found so many wonderful people in the secretive society that she loved and admired, there was a lot about it that was just too damn hard. She'd grown up as an odd, misunderstood, but still quite privileged girl. All of the best Muggle schools would've been open to her if she'd stayed. Instead of being relegated to the bottom rung of society as she had been as a Muggle-Born, she would've had the chance to be among the very best and most elite of Muggles. Despite being such a pivotal part of Voldemort's demise, there would always be witches and wizards who would look down on her as being unworthy to exist in their world. She could rise to the highest levels of the wizarding government and society and still be considered an outcast.

She didn't believe Draco's response. Not for a moment. Maybe he didn't want to think too much about changing the past, but she knew he wished he could. They _all_ wished they could. If there was a time machine or a spell that could take anyone who had been adversely affected by the damned war back in time to be able to make changes, she knew they would take it. How could they not? For several long minutes after Draco ran away she thought about what she would do if she could. First of all, she wouldn't keep any secrets from her parents. They would know _everything_. It wasn't fair of her to keep the truth from them when they were affected as well.

Sometimes when she considered what events or decisions she would change, she came to the heart-wrenching conclusion that perhaps it would've been best for her in the long run to never befriend Harry Potter. It was a terribly selfish thought. There was a real possibility that without her help at least some of the time, he would've been killed long before he was able to kill Voldemort. No one could ever know if that were true, of course, but it didn't make her feel any less that her life could've been much different if she'd stayed away from him. What would her life have been like if she let the Sorting Hat put her into Ravenclaw as it wanted to first? If she hadn't begged to be placed in Gryffindor, everything could've been different.

* * *

For weeks after the incident near the burned out Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy avoided Hermione whenever possible. Knowing that it would be too obvious if she suddenly switched seats in Potions, she acted as if nothing changed. She still carried on a mostly one-sided conversation before lessons about their homework or something she read in their textbook. He never brought up what they talked about nor even acted as if they'd ever had a conversation at all. She wasn't sure if she was grateful that he didn't mention it or annoyed.

A week before Christmas she watched as all of the students filed out of the main doors in the Entrance Hall to climb aboard one of the thestral-driven carriages to the waiting Hogwarts Express in Hogsmeade. Finally being able to see the mysterious creatures brought her no sense of comfort. Twice she'd ridden on the back of one without being able to see it. She'd carelessly thought that she wished she could see them. Only once the black leathery wings came into focus for the first time did she realize what a foolish wish it had been. Gone were the innocent days of her youth. She would always be reminded of the horrors that she'd witnessed the year before when a thestral came into her view.

Watching all of her fellow students chatting excitedly in the Entrance Hall about their upcoming break and visits home made Hermione melancholy. Would she ever be able to look forward to the Christmas holiday with joy and excitement again? Or would she always be stuck thinking about everything that she was missing? She would never be able to share the holiday with her parents again unless there was some sort of miracle cure discovered in the coming years. Moving to Australia and forcing her way into their lives as a new neighbor was an idea, if not a very good one.

"Are you sure you won't come home with me, Hermione? You know there's plenty of space at the Burrow for you."

"Thank you, Ginny, but no. I don't think I'll be much fun this year."

Ginny tried everything she could think of to persuade Hermione to leave the castle for the break between terms. Molly and Ron had even tried by sending their own owls inviting her too. While she appreciated that they were concerned for her and wanted her to feel like she belonged amongst them, she meant it when she said she wasn't up for any sort of celebration or holiday spirit. Besides, it would be their first Christmas without Fred and she expected they would have a hard enough time without her there to make it awkward. She hated when anyone felt pity for her, especially when they had their own griefs to bear.

Wishing to be alone with her thoughts, she climbed the main staircase all the way to the seventh floor. Tempted to return to her dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, she surprised herself at the last second by heading instead towards the Room of Requirement. A few conversations with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick about the future status of the remarkable room left her without much hope that anything could be done to repair it. Fiendfyre was a dangerous curse that left irrevocable destruction in its path. Professor Flitwick had some hope that the room could be rebuilt from the ground up if they were able to find the castle's original plans. A thorough search of the library and other rooms storing important documents would be conducted when all of the other repairs left by the battle were finished.

Hermione found herself pulling back the tapestry covering the hidden niche before she'd even realized she'd moved so far. Often she existed in a strange sort of haze where her mind travelled to faraway places while she walked. Maybe she should've been surprised to find Draco Malfoy standing at the window staring out over the grounds, but somehow she wasn't. Was it possible that he had been waiting there for her to return? She'd avoided the area since their conversation. It had been too embarrassing to recall.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

She was only a step away before Draco stopped her with a simple question.

"Why aren't you going home for Christmas?"

Because he never really spoke to her when they were anywhere else, she was startled by his curiosity. She was tempted to ignore his question or snap at him to mind his own business, but seeing her own melancholy reflected on his face made her decide against it. All being rude to him would do was make them both even more miserable than they already were. And if she was perfectly honest, she was just as curious about him still being there.

"I don't have a home anymore. Not really."

The slightest pink tinge of his cheeks proved that he was embarrassed by his thoughtless question. Hermione thought it might be the first time she'd seen him behave almost human since the last time they were alone in the niche. Taking pity on him, she brushed away the awkwardness hanging in the air to ask him the same question. His heavy sigh was just as telling as his explanation.

"I wouldn't really call the Manor home anymore either. It certainly doesn't feel like it."

"I'm sorry. It must be awful to feel that way."

She didn't think that he would ever get used to her being kind. It was still a daily choice to not curse him right in his bits every time she saw him. She either hoped that the feeling would eventually go away or that she would stop having to see him so often. Forgiving him might very well turn out to be the hardest decision of her entire life. No one would blame her if she decided that it was too hard, least of all Draco himself.

Neither of them spoke for a few uncomfortable minutes. Hermione stood next to him at the window watching the line of carriages begin to make their way towards the village. She wondered if he could see the thestrals too, but stopped before she asked the too-personal question. Of course he could see them. How could he not? He'd been there when Albus Dumbledore was murdered. It didn't matter that it later turned out to not be a murder so much as a planned assisted suicide. He would've still been present for the moment the former Headmaster breathed his last. And not to mention there was no telling what other atrocities he'd been forced to bear witness to with Voldemort living inside his house. Had he been ordered to kill too?

Shaking her head to dispel the horrible thoughts that plagued her, Hermione dared to turn her face enough to see that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Part of her wished that she was a Legilimens. It would be fascinating to know what the wizard was thinking. He'd always been a pest and an annoyance she would've rather avoided. Everything changed with the end of the war. Just as she wasn't the same person she was, neither was Draco. She wasn't sure she would ever get the chance to discover what sort of changes or if she would even _want_ to know if she could.

"Why did you ask me if I dreamt about changing the past?"

Hermione didn't know how to answer the question. As she took some time to try to formulate the best answer she could in her mind, she finally sighed in defeat. There was no reason to lie.

"I don't know, Draco. It just sort of slipped out. I haven't been able to think about much of anything else for months if you must know."

He turned away to stare back across the snow covered grounds. Time travel was a ridiculous fantasy. Even if all of the Ministry of Magic's Time-Turners hadn't been destroyed in the Department of Mysteries that wretched night in their fifth year, she knew that it was impossible. The most that a person could go back in time was a few hours at once. Anything more than that would prove to be too unstable. There were volumes and volumes about the limitations of time travel she'd devoured over the years.

"I wish I knew _why_ my father became a Death Eater in the first place. Why would he be so reckless and stupid?"

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Draco tensed up and moved towards the tapestry to make his escape. He must have been embarrassed that he'd said anything or he felt guilty for speaking out against his father to a practical stranger. For the first time in all of the years that they'd known each other, Hermione felt like they were actually getting somewhere in their conversation. She didn't want to end it there.

"Draco, wait."

He'd grown several inches in the last few years. Able to put several paces between them once he was outside of the niche, Hermione had to almost run to catch up to him. Instead of shrugging her off when she grabbed his arm, the wizard's shoulders sagged with another heavy sigh. His striking grey eyes filled with tears that he didn't even bother to hide.

"I wish I could understand why he did what he did. I wish I could know my father when he was just a stupid boy making the biggest mistake of his life. I wish I could stop him. I wish I could change _everything_."

A low rumbling in the wall next to them stopped Hermione from responding. She wouldn't have known what to say in the first place. Still holding on to his arm, she looked at the stone wall as it began to shift and morph. Concerned that they might have to make a run for it if the damaged wall collapsed on them, she tugged at him to encourage him to move. Draco ignored the silent plea, but made a step forward to place himself between the shifting wall and her body. Whether the protective stance was intentional or not didn't seem important.

"I thought this room was broken after Vince…"

"It was. I mean, it _is_."

Except in the very spot on the wall where the door to the Room of Requirement had failed to appear in all of the months that passed since the room was ravaged by Fiendfyre, there appeared a very solid door. They stared at each other with wide eyes, unsure what to do next. Finally deciding that they were wasting time standing around doing nothing, Draco reached out to grasp the doorknob. Neither of them was sure what to expect. Would Fiendfyre come bursting out of the open hole when he pulled open the door or would it have died out at some point since the battle? Hermione readied her wand just in case it was needed, but even she with all of her books wasn't sure how to contain the dark spell.

Draco pulled the door open quickly as if getting it over fast would make it easier. To their great relief, no flames came shooting out. As he started to take his first step into the room, Hermione tugged at his arm to get him to stop.

"It might not be safe."

"We won't know that if we don't go in."

If the moment hadn't been quite so tense, she might have teased him about sounding just like a Gryffindor, but she knew it wasn't the time. Refusing to release her tight grip on his arm, she tightened her grasp on her wand in her other hand. They stepped inside together, both gasping when the door slammed shut behind them.

"I don't understand, Granger. How can it..?"

She didn't have to ask him to clarify or complete his question. It was obvious when she looked around the room to see it looking exactly as it did the day they last stood there. Piles and piles of broken objects and stolen artifacts and dangerous items littered the room. Nothing seemed different from just moments before Vincent Crabbe cast the Fiendfyre curse that ultimately ended his own life.

"We should go tell the Headmistress. She'll want to know that the room has… well, it appears to have healed itself, but that doesn't make the least bit of sense. In _Hogwarts, A History_ there's mention of a time when a curse damaged…"

Draco's arms wrapped around her body as the entire room began to spin violently. Everything happened so quickly that she was thankful that he'd had the presence of mind to grab her before they were separated in the chaos. There was no time to cast a protective shield around them. They were hit over and over again with flying pieces of debris as the room swirled into a maelstrom. She clung to the wizard and closed her eyes, hoping that it would be over soon. Or at the very least that she'd be struck in the head with something heavy.

Time moved strangely. She wasn't sure if it was seconds or years that passed. All she knew was that when it finally stopped, her head ached and her breakfast was clamoring to make its reappearance into the world. The spinning ended so abruptly that both of them were thrown into the door, splintering it as they fell back into the corridor. Draco broke her fall. He grunted, but didn't move to push her away.

"You're heavier than you look, Granger. How many books are you carrying in your pockets?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Slapping lightly at his chest, she carefully pushed herself up off of him. It felt entirely too awkward and intimate to be so close to the wizard. After all, they hardly knew each other and didn't really like each other anyway. As she attempted to regain her footing and stand up, a hand appeared in front of her face offering assistance. Startled, she looked up, straight into the confused, but still twinkling blue eyes belonging to Albus Dumbledore.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**__** In honor of my birthday today, I'm updating all four of my current WIPs! Please follow me to check out other stories. Thank you for being so patient as I've had this story on the back burner for so long. I have a number of plans for it. In a few months I should be able to get to a point of fairly regular updates.**_

_**Also, I just wanted to let everyone know that this story is an **__**Alternate Universe**__** time travel story and NOT a Causal Loop time travel story. Yes, in the original story Dumbledore didn't know about the Room of Requirement until Hermione's fourth year. In this story because the timeline has changed with their appearance, he now knows it exists… sort of.**_

* * *

Chapter Three

Draco was dead. That was the only possible explanation that made any sense for why he was lying on the stone floor of Hogwarts looking up at the wizard he watched die on what was one of the worst nights of his entire life. When the Room of Requirement began violently spinning and all of the detritus left behind by generations of Hogwarts students pelted them in the head and body, something must have struck them a little too hard in the wrong place. A dull throbbing in the back of his head where it met the ground when they were thrown through the door seemed to confirm his suspicions. Except wouldn't all pain end in the afterlife?

Perhaps the more plausible excuse was that he'd just simply gone mad. More than once in his eighteen years he felt as if he stood on the precipice of complete insanity. If there was anyone alive who had reason enough to lose all their wits, he thought he qualified. And the way that _she_ kept staring at him made him wonder if she was concerned he would do something violent and harm her. It bothered him on a deep, visceral level that she might be scared of him. That was the last thing he wanted.

Whatever the true explanation was, Draco couldn't deny that Albus Dumbledore towered over him staring down at them with a look of confusion and concern. If the Room of Requirement killed them both and brought them to a place where the ones who'd died before them could interact with him, wouldn't the former Headmaster recognize two of his most memorable students? Granger was one of Potter's best friends, always getting into trouble and then somehow earning points for their House because of the batty old man's evident preference for Gryffindor. And as unpopular of a Headmaster as he'd been in some social circles, surely he would've remembered students who tried to murder him?

The night at the Astronomy Tower still haunted his dreams. Sometimes he feared closing his eyes because of what he might see replayed over and over again. He might not have been what others would consider a good man, but he felt certain that there was undoubtedly one thing he positively wasn't: a murderer. He didn't have the stomach for it. Watching the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord commit callous murders without giving it any thought throughout that terrible last year of the war proved that to him without any confusion. He was the worst Death Eater imaginable. Not only would he rather kill himself than harm anyone else, he didn't even believe what most of the others did. Not really. His arm was Marked against his will. Even if he prostrated himself before the Dark Lord and swore that he would follow him for the rest of his life, he'd only done it because he was a bloody coward.

"Are you both all right?"

Dumbledore or his imposter, whatever he was, reached a hand out to help Granger off the floor. Seeing her stare at the Headmaster with a mixture of fear and hesitation made Draco rethink his theory that he'd gone mad. They wouldn't have gone mad together, would they? Perhaps there was some sort of spell or curse that could cause widespread insanity that he wasn't aware of, but he couldn't understand who might cast it. For all anyone in the castle knew, the Room of Requirement was damaged beyond repair. It would've taken more effort than anyone in the entire school, staff and students alike, were capable to replicate the events of the past quarter of an hour.

"I think so. I must've tripped and fallen. Poor Draco took the worst of it. Are you all right, Draco?"

Once on her feet she reached down to offer him help up too. A silent conversation passed between them in those few seconds that he didn't fully understand. He wished he was a Legilimens. Wouldn't being able to read her mind be fascinating? If he could ever figure out how to do it without her knowing it, he wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd try. She'd always been a mystery to him, no more so since they returned to the castle. He would have to assume by the look she gave him that she wanted him to say as little as possible. That was fine by him.

"Yes, I'm fine, _Hermione_. Just bumped my head."

Dumbledore's attention returned to the splintered door when he was sure that both of the mysterious students were mostly unharmed. Even the dull pain in his head was slowly dissipating. There was a gaping hole where the Room of Requirement had been just minutes earlier. Pieces of the heavy wooden door littered the corridor. A few slivers still clung to the doorway. All they could see from where they stood was a pitch black darkness within. Draco no longer felt a pull towards the room. If anything, he longed to run in the opposite direction and never return to it. Whatever they'd done, the room wasn't the same.

"I'm not familiar with this room. To be perfectly honest, in all of my years as a professor I wasn't even aware there _was_ door on that wall."

"Hogwarts has a great deal of mysteries. No one knows them all."

There was a subtle change in the Headmaster's expression when he turned away from the hole in the wall to stare at Granger. He no longer seemed concerned or confused, but wary and suspicious. The desire to run from the castle became overpowering. Without even realizing he was doing so, Draco inched closer to the witch, ready to grab her arm and pull her, if necessary.

"I'm also not familiar with who either of the two of you are or _why_ you are in the castle right now. No one is supposed to be here yet. Even if you were students, which I know you're not, term won't start for weeks."

Draco exchanged another nervous look with Granger. Neither of them rushed to explain who they were or why they were there. He did think it strange, however, that she wasn't putting her blind Gryffindor trust in the wizard she and all of her friends seemed to worship. It made since why _he_ didn't trust Dumbledore after their history, but why didn't she want to explain? Everyone on her side of the war blindly trusted the old fool. He didn't understand.

When he felt the familiar sensation of someone trying to peek into his mind, Draco felt even more afraid than he already had. What if Dumbledore suspected that he was there to try to kill him again? Would he even bother making an offer to spare him or would he just _avada_ Draco to be done with it? He remembered the horrible lessons his aunt used to give him in Occlumency. Nothing about that woman had been soft or kind. Not wishing to experience anything close to that again, he pushed the old man out of his mind without giving it much thought.

As he felt his shields slam into place, he knew he'd made the wrong decision. All he'd managed to accomplish was to give the Headmaster even more reason to be suspicious of their appearance in the castle. The twinkling blue eyes narrowed. He stepped closer to Draco.

"_Obliviate_!"

Professor Dumbledore's eyes glazed over for half a second. Confused by what just happened, he stared around the corridor like he couldn't remember why he was there in the first place. Only when Draco felt Granger grab his hand in hers did he seem to remember she was there too. He'd been so focused on making certain the wizard couldn't read memories of the night he'd been murdered.

"Thank you ever so much for the tour, Headmaster Dumbledore. Such a fascinating history. We appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to show us."

"Uhh, yes… why of course, Miss… _miss_. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

If Granger had been able to place new memories in his mind when she cast the memory modification charm or if he was too polite and concerned he was losing his mind so he played along was unclear. Draco was grateful for her quick thinking. What could have happened to them if she hadn't stepped up was unthinkable. He knew firsthand there was a reason why the part of the castle the Slytherin dormitories was in was called the dungeons.

"We will be going now. Draco and I will have to think very seriously about whether we will transfer here for our last year or not."

Still keeping a tight grasp on his hand, she pulled him down the corridor towards the main staircase. Walking quickly, she didn't say anything until they were out of earshot of the dazed Headmaster.

"We can't stay here. Something's wrong."

Draco was in no fit place to argue with her on that point. Of course something was very wrong. He had many theories, each one more unbelievable than the last. They ran down the staircase as swiftly as the moving parts would allow them. No one met them on their way. Even for the beginning of the Christmas holidays that seemed odd. There were always professors and students that were staying behind milling around the castle.

Once they were out the main doors of the castle on the ground floor, Draco couldn't deny that he was terrified. The thick woolen jumper he put on that morning had nearly been insufficient for the chill in the December air. Outside on the grounds the heat from the bright sun made the jumper unbearable.

"Draco, where is all of the snow?"

"I don't know."

She looked as frightened as he felt. It made no sense. How could they have been in the middle of winter just a short time earlier and now the summer? Something truly sinister was happening. He wanted answers, but didn't even know where to begin.

"We should go to Hogsmeade. I don't feel… I don't feel safe here any longer."

There was nothing about her suggestion that he wanted to argue with. If she hadn't suggested leaving the castle grounds first, he would've done it. Realizing he was still clutching her hand, he dropped it. All he needed was one more unnecessary complication in his life.

Neither of them spoke the entire way to the village. What _could_ they say? Everything happened so quickly and made absolutely no sense. Outside of the Hogwarts gates, each of them sighed quietly in relief at the same time. Draco felt the corner of his lip threaten to turn into a smirk. Was it possible they had more in common with each other than he'd thought for seven years? In his younger years he was half-convinced that Muggle-Borns were something less than fully human. Many lessons were learned the hard way during the last part of the war.

Part of him kept expecting to wake up in the Hogwarts infirmary with a nasty head injury. Could he possibly be dreaming? It made more logical sense than the idea that the Room of Requirement somehow managed to repair itself well enough that it could then use itself as some sort of time travel vortex to hurl them both back into the past when Albus Dumbledore was still alive. Draco bit back a snort at the very idea that such a thing was possible. Yes, he was still sure that he was about to wake up any moment to find Madam Pomfrey lecturing him about being more careful when he moved about the castle.

Hogsmeade looked different than he expected it to look. He'd just been there the weekend before buying some last minute Christmas gifts for his parents. Unsure how to explain it exactly, it seemed that some of the familiar shops he'd been shopping in most of his life looked newer than they used to. Others were rundown and closed. Of course he also couldn't explain where all of the snow had gone and why it felt like summer.

Nor could he explain how they'd just seen Albus Dumbledore when Draco _knew_ he was dead. His was the first murder he'd ever had to watch with his own eyes. There had been others, of course, but he would never forget his first. Especially since it was one that _he_ was supposed to commit.

The feel of Granger's sharp tug on his arm broke him out of his thoughts about that horrible night. Any excuse to think about something else was always welcome. She held what looked like a newspaper she'd pulled out of a rubbish bin. Her eyes were wide and her skin was almost transparent she was so pale.

"What is it, Granger?"

She didn't answer him at first. Worried she hadn't heard him, he repeated the question. Instead of saying anything, she tightened her hold on his arm to drag him away from the other shoppers on High Street. Their destination was little more than a dirty hole between two ramshackle shops that he thought had once been Gladrags Wizardwear and a greengrocer called The Magic Neep. What happened to the buildings since his last visit to the village to be in such a miserable state of disrepair was just another mystery to add to a growing list. He wasn't sure he'd ever had a more bizarre day in his entire life.

The moment he saw the date at the top of the front page of the newspaper Granger pushed into his hands he was _certain_ he hadn't. Understanding why her face had grown so suddenly pale, he felt his knees threaten to buckle. It was impossible. There was no bloody way they were reading the newspaper correctly. When he read the morning edition of the Daily Prophet over breakfast just hours earlier, it was December 1998. How could it now be June 26, _1965_? He needed to sit down.

"You look like you're about to faint."

"I might. Is it possible this is all some sort of elaborate prank? Or a hallucination?"

"One that we can both see? I don't think that's possible, Draco. I think… I think the Room of Requirement brought us to the past."

He didn't understand how she could be so calm as she uttered such a ridiculous theory. Wasn't she supposed to be intelligent? Over the years he questioned her sanity continuing to be friends with Potter and Weasley and them dragging her into such dangerous situations, but he never doubted how smart she was. All previous opinions he held about the strange witch were called to further scrutiny. Perhaps he'd been wrong all along. She could very well be both stupid _and_ insane.

"We should get you some cold water. That'll help."

"I'd rather have something stronger."

Though most of his experience with drinking was limited to passing a smuggled bottle of fire whiskey around the boys dormitory he shared with the other Slytherin boys in his year, he could think of no other way to calm his nerves after what he'd already experienced that day. His father's weakness for alcohol during the last year when their manor was taken over by the Dark Lord caused him a great deal of shame, but he didn't care in that moment. Maybe he could finally learn what sort of escape his father found in fire whiskey.

"I think I would too."

Despite finding themselves in a frightening and unprecedented dilemma, he couldn't keep the grin off his face that appeared there at her words. Granger was certainly full of surprises. Not for the first time he wondered what his old school rivals got up to in Gryffindor Tower. There was a lot still to learn about the witch, and if they really were stuck in the past as he feared, he'd probably get the chance.

"We could go to the Three Broomsticks."

"No, I'm not allowed to go back in there."

He _hated_ that he didn't have to explain why he'd been banned from the popular tavern. Everyone, it seemed, knew all about how he'd cast the Imperius Curse on Madam Rosmerta sixth year repeatedly to get her assistance in his failed plot to murder the Headmaster against her will. It was something of a miracle he hadn't been chucked into Azkaban for the rest of his life. Unforgivables were called what they were because they were _supposed_ to be unforgivable. The Wizengamot had been overly kind to him during his trial. They must've felt sorry for him being placed in an impossible position thanks to the careless actions of his father. Sometimes he really loathed that man for what he'd put his family through. They didn't deserve any of it.

"Well, yes, under ordinary circumstances you'd be right, but Draco, I don't think these _are_ ordinary circumstances. If this newspaper is correct, it's over thirty years _before_ you… you were banned."

One deep sigh from him and she seemed to understand his reluctance to return to the scene of his old crimes even if they hadn't technically happened yet. Grateful that he wouldn't be forced to recount his experiences, he followed her down a side street to a dingy pub he'd never been brave enough to enter before. Not even in the middle of his most arrogant days when he felt like the most important person who lived in the castle. The Hog's Head had a nasty reputation for a very good reason. Professor Snape always warned the Slytherins to stay away. When he mentioned it to his father, he'd agreed.

Granger pushed the pub's door open without fear. Had she been there before? Draco couldn't imagine a scenario that would put the witch inside the notorious pub, but once more, he was well aware that he still didn't know much about her at all. His father always talked about how nasty Muggles were. Maybe she was used to that sort of filth? What kinds of homes did Muggles live in anyway? He couldn't imagine they could be very nice without magic. How would they be able to see in the dark without wands? Fire was rather primitive, so perhaps they…

All further considerations on the inner workings of a Muggle home ceased when he saw the wizard standing behind the bar. The same twinkling blue eyes he'd just seen up at the castle eyed him with unmistakeable suspicion. Unlike the Dumbledore he'd tried to kill, this wizard didn't bother to hide that he didn't trust his two newest patrons.

"That's Aberforth Dumbledore, Professor Dumbledore's younger brother."

He didn't need her whispered explanation to figure out the family resemblance. Part of him was tempted to forget all about his earlier concerns about returning to the Three Broomsticks. Whatever welcome he found there was sure to be better than being faced with another Dumbledore. What would the man think if he knew that Draco would try to kill his brother in the future? He seemed frightening enough to murder him where he stood.

There were only a handful of other customers in the pub. Despite being a busy Saturday afternoon in other parts of the village, few wandered to The Hog's Head. Draco could understand why. When Granger offered to order them drinks at the bar so he could finally sit down, he didn't argue. It would've been more gentlemanly to escort the lady to her seat and purchase the refreshments, but based on the day they'd already had, he wasn't about to stand on ceremony. He wanted to put as much distance between the other Dumbledore and himself as he could.

A table in the furthest corner of the pub from the bar was mercifully open. Ignoring the stares from the other _colorful_ characters sipping their drinks, he crossed the main room of the pub with all of the confidence he'd watched his father exude when entering a room full of people who hated him. As much as there was to hate about the man, even Draco couldn't deny the man knew how to make an entrance.

He was finishing up clearing the thick layer of dust off of the top of the table and the two chairs when Granger arrived with two glasses in one hand and an entire bottle of fire whiskey in the other. Again he felt the corner of his mouth twitch up into another amused grin. For another time that day despite having a great deal they needed to discuss, neither of them spoke as they sipped at their first glass of fire whiskey. Before that day he wouldn't have believed anyone who told him that it was possible to sit in an almost companionable silence with the witch. His past experiences with her were filled with moments when she couldn't keep her mouth shut. There seemed to exist a physical impossibility for her to be quiet around him unless he said something cruel to make her cry her silent tears.

One day he knew he would have to atone for all of the hateful bullying he'd committed. How? He didn't have the first clue. All he knew was bullies grew into men like his father and his father was the _last_ person he wanted to become. He only hoped it wasn't too late, but part of him feared he was. Could a person ever really change? Or were they destined to be the same for the rest of their miserable existence? Not caring for where his thinking was going, he gulped the rest of the fire whiskey in his glass and reached for the bottle.

"So how do you suppose we fix this, Granger?"

"'Fix this'?"

"Yes, how do we get back to our…"

He remembered there were several other pairs of ears around the room that could be listening in. They didn't need the further complication of someone thinking they were completely mad and dragging them off to St. Mungo's. Even with a questionable clientele frequenting The Hog's Head, there could still be trouble. Draco lowered his voice.

"How do we get back home?"

With a quick flick of her wrist and a muttered word he didn't understand, Granger covered their immediate area in some sort of spell. Done carefully with her wand hardly leaving her pocket, it was possible that he was the only one in the pub who noticed. Trusting her spellwork, but still feeling quite paranoid, he scooted his chair closer to hers, leaning in like they were just a young couple on a date. No one would be too suspicious of whispers then, would they?

"Do you think we have to go back to the castle and try to go back through the Room of Requirement?"

Draco was at a complete loss. Unsure even where to start trying to fix the problem they were in, he hoped that she had more to offer in terms of ideas or even just hope. Hadn't she spent the last several years getting dragged into Potter's dangerous schemes? It didn't take much effort to understand she was the real brains behind all of it. Without Granger, who knows if the Dark Lord would've been defeated. Their world could've turned out quite different. Did everyone else understand that? Somehow he doubted the rest of their society understood fully her contribution. Sure, Potter cast the final curse, but she got him to that point by saving his arse more times than he knew.

"It was still broken when we left Professor Dumbledore. I can't imagine that it would've fixed itself again in such a short period of time. It took _months_ after the Fiendfyre. I'm not sure that we _can_ go back, Draco."

That was not what he wanted to hear. What could they do stuck more than thirty years in the past? _Why_ would the Room of Requirement take them back that far? He was beginning to wish he'd never discovered the room. How much simpler would his life have been if he couldn't figure out a way to get his aunt and Greyback and the other incompetent Death Eaters into the castle that horrible night? Likely the Dark Lord would've killed him for his own incompetence, but that hardly sounded terrible. Maybe that would've been best all along.

"So we're just stuck here in the past, Granger? Stuck here with no way of going back?"

"I think so. Unless the Room of Requirement can fix itself again. That might be too much to hope for."

He sighed into his glass. They were utterly and completely fucked. If they couldn't get back to their own time, how were they going to survive? With no money, no right even to his name? He didn't want to consider all of the possibilities. Though also seeming defeated, at least Granger was a tiny bit more upbeat about it. Clearly she wasn't a stranger to hopeless circumstances. Her entire friendship with Potter was just one right after another.

"What were you saying right before the door reappeared on the wall? You wished you could know why your father…"

"Became a Death Eater. Why he did all of it. I said that I wanted to know my father when he was just a stupid boy."

"How old was your father in 1965?"

As he did the math in his head, he poured himself another glass. Did all of this come into being because of his wishes? He'd said he wanted to change everything that happened, everything that ruined his life and his parents' lives. Was it possible for the Room of Requirement to grant him such a wish? If he'd been asked before it happened to him, he was certain he wouldn't have believed it. And yet there he was sitting in The Hog's Head wearing a woolen jumper on a hot June afternoon with Hermione Granger in 1965. Never had he felt more powerless or more ignorant. He sighed.

"He was eleven."

"So you get to know your father when he was just a stupid little boy. The Room of Requirement made that happen."

"I'm sorry that you got caught up in all of this. I should've gone into the room alone. You shouldn't be here with me. I'm sorry, Hermione."

She rested her hand on top of his forearm. Involuntarily flinching because she touched his Dark Mark through the fabric of his sleeve, he hoped she didn't notice. If she did, she had enough grace not to mention it.

"It wasn't just you, Draco. I wished for something too."

"What?"

It was her turn to finish her glass in a single deep swallow. They would both be intoxicated soon if they didn't slow down their pace.

"I wished I could go back in time before I cast the spells to take away my parents' memories. Perhaps I should've been a little more specific. Thirty-two years _before_ might have been a bit much."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note**__**: Hello? Anyone still there? So quiet on the last chapter. :) I'm working on getting this story to the point where I can do minimum weekly updates. Maybe a future Malfoy Monday if anyone is interested? Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter.**_

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Chapter Four

She had to fight the urge to burst out in loud, hysterical laughter. How was it possible that she found herself in yet another completely unbelievable, indescribable, _insane_ situation? She should've been forced to wear a sign warning all who came near her that she was nothing but trouble. Hermione pinched her arm once more just to prove she wasn't dreaming. The sharp pain broke the last of her barriers down. Let the world assume she was completely mad. What did she care? Maybe she was.

No longer stifling her laughter, Hermione knew she must look ridiculous. Each second that passed her giggles only grew louder. Draco stared at her with an expression that seemed torn between joining her or calling for the Healers at St. Mungo's to come take her away. Other patrons around the room started to take notice, but she couldn't stop. Not even when Aberforth glared at their table from behind the bar. Everyone seemed keen to learn what the joke was. She would tell them if she could figure out some way that made the least bit of sense.

Maybe it was the fire whiskey. Maybe it was because he could see the humor, dark thought it might be, behind their circumstance. Or maybe he just found the sound of her laughter amusing, but she could see the corner of Draco's mouth threatening to curl up into a smile. Somehow that only made the experience seem all the more ridiculous. How was it possible she was practically drunk and laughing with _Malfoy_ of all people stuck in the past?

"Maybe I should've been a little more specific about how far in the past I wanted to go."

Draco chuckled. It was quiet and over almost as soon as it happened, but she saw it. She heard it. She knew she wasn't dreaming. Somewhere deep inside behind that cruel, cold exterior he always tried to portray, he could see the humor in their desperation too. Hermione could feel the tiniest shift between them. There was a lessening of the pervasive tension that always seemed to exist when they were in the same room.

"You already said that."

"Oh, did I? Maybe I did."

"You're not used to drinking, are you, Granger?"

"_Hermione_, and no, I'm not. Sorry I'm not an expert like you seem to be."

His pale cheeks flamed red for half a second before he brought himself back under control. Had she embarrassed him? She didn't mean to. Remembering how haggard his father looked the night she was tortured, she wondered if he was reminded of him. It was an unfriendly rumor that the once proud and haughty Lucius Malfoy was little more than a pathetic drunk now. She understood how Draco could be ashamed of him.

"It's my fault we came back this far. I didn't mean to, but I asked the Room of Requirement for too much."

The barrier she felt shift earlier clicked right back in place. There was no longer any time for joking at the absurdity of their predicament. They would need to face it head-on. Terrified of the thought, Hermione gulped the last of the fire whiskey in her glass and reached for the bottle.

"It doesn't matter whose _fault_ it is, Draco. For whatever reason, the castle sent us back to this time. It wasn't an accident and we can't waste valuable time trying to place blame on each other or ourselves. It just _is_. We need to make a plan, figure out what we're going to do next and how we're going to get back."

Even as she said the words, Hermione knew there was no way to get back. Time travel was tricky and delicate. Their arrival in the past hadn't gone unnoticed. Already they'd made changes that couldn't be undone. Her research on time travel left her with one upsetting reality: they were stuck. Would it be better to tell him the truth and just get it over with? Or should she offer him hope for a little while longer? Neither option was very good.

She felt lost without a decent plan. In all of the years she'd been friends with Harry and helped keep him from being killed by Voldemort, she'd been the one who saw the necessity for having a plan. Ron had the strategic mind who could figure out what they needed to do when they got somewhere, but she was usually the one who figured out how they got there in the first place. Or she rushed behind Harry when he decided to act first without thinking.

Maybe it was her destiny to be trapped in the past with Draco Malfoy. Even just the thought made her want to laugh again. How absurd! Everything that happened to them since they stepped back inside the repaired Room of Requirement was absurd.

"Do you believe in destiny, Draco?"

The wizard laughed at her question but there was no joy behind it.

"Destiny is just rubbish they talk about in Divination class. No, I don't."

On that one point, at least, they could agree. Hermione lifted her glass in a mock toast to him before drinking more. As the evening wore on, the two unlikely companions searched for what they would find at the bottom of the bottle. Answers to all of their questions seemed too much to hope for.

"What if we tried to go back into the Room of Requirement? Maybe it would take us back and it'll be as if this little trip to the past never happened."

There were several parts of Draco's suggestion that were wrong, but she didn't want to argue with him. No matter what happened next, experience taught her it would be better if it wasn't done alone. They were far from perfect partners and Hermione could easily seem them butting heads and losing patience in the future. None of that mattered. In the spirit of trying to remain cordial, she didn't immediately point out all of the ways in which he was wrong like she would've done in the past.

"No, what am I thinking? That doesn't make sense. If we were even able to sneak back into the castle and get up to the right floor, which I doubt we could do, it's not as if the Room of Requirement will just open its door, apologize for the inconvenience it caused, and take us back in time for curfew."

Fire whiskey relaxed Draco in an amusing way Hermione didn't expect. While she couldn't stop worrying about the unknown, he seemed to find their predicament funny. She wished she could be as upbeat as he was.

"What do you know about time travel?"

"Quite a bit actually."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

Prepared to defend herself from an attack about her study habits and love for the written word, Hermione started to say something nasty in retaliation. When she saw his smirk and realized he was only teasing, some of the fight leaked out of her. She was too tired to be offended, especially if he didn't mean anything by it.

"It's not a bad thing, you know. Wanting to know all of the answers. I get it."

"I don't like not knowing something. It makes me nervous. If I can find an answer in a book I feel more confident, _safe_."

The moment her confession was out of her mouth Hermione regretted saying anything at all. She'd never been so open about the reasons why she was so quick to run to a book when she didn't know something. It made her feel like she was at least doing _something_ of value in a tense moment. There was a reason why she spent much of the horcrux hunt with her nose in a book. Other people had their own security blankets and talismans. She had her books.

"So in all of your studying about time travel, was there anything that could help us find our way back?"

All she could offer him was a sad shake of her head. He sighed, took a drink from his glass, and then surprisingly, it was his turn to burst out laughing. Seeing a less arrogant side of the wizard was fun. She couldn't help but like him just a little bit. Of course she also had no doubt that when the fire whiskey wore off and they were both sober again she would find him frustrating and obnoxious.

"Dumbledore is going to think we're both insane and kick us out if you don't stop laughing."

Even as Hermione uttered her warning she smiled. Draco wasn't bothered.

"We should try to make the most of our time in the past, Hermione. Maybe it'll even be enjoyable."

She could hardly imagine it being a good idea to stay where they were. War was coming. Maybe not for a few more years, but it would be there waiting for them when it arrived. Did she have the stomach to go through it again? Even knowing what she knew about the future didn't lessen the twisting knot of dread in her stomach. Could events be changed? Or were they going to be doomed to watch everything tragic happen all over again with no way to stop it?

"I don't know how you can be so upbeat about the prospect of being lost in the past. Won't you miss anything about your life?"

Draco considered her question before offering any sort of answer. As he swirled the amber liquid around in his glass, he stared at the drops around the edge. She knew she hadn't asked him an easy question. His private thoughts were really none of her business. Maybe she shouldn't have asked.

"I miss my mother. So much of what I did that I regret was solely to keep her safe. She protected me when I was a child and I protected her when I became a…"

The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. Gone as quickly as it appeared, Hermione didn't think she needed him to elaborate to understand. Though on different sides of the same conflict, each of them had to become an adult far sooner than they were ready or prepared for. Except they didn't actually grow up. Even at eighteen and nineteen years old they were still little more than children fighting in a world that was too big for them. Would they ever be able to catch up or were they forever stuck in between two stages of life?

"I protected her as much as I could. Part of me will always miss my mother, but she's not the same. Even if we could go back, she still wouldn't be there. Your parents may have lost their memories, but mine are stuck in theirs."

One didn't have to die to become a victim of a war. Without giving it much thought Hermione reached across the small table to take Draco's free hand in hers. He didn't shrug her off at once, a small victory. For the few moments the touch lasted until she removed her hand, she felt calmer, less afraid, less alone. If she had to be thrown back in time, at least she wasn't by herself.

"Did you bring any money with you? I don't have much with me. Most of it is in my trunk down in the dungeons. Don't think the goblins will let me into my vault fifteen years before I'm supposed to be born."

Draco seemed to find the prospect of having little money funny. Surely as the privileged only child of the wealthy Malfoys he'd never experienced what it was like to not have access to whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. Did this all seem like a big adventure to him instead of the frightening nightmare it was?

"I have some."

She didn't tell him that she carried every knut she owned with her at all times. After a year on the run she didn't want to ever be caught without something she needed. Hermione kept her beaded bag in her pocket every moment she was awake. Tucked deep inside in a small pocket was her savings. It wouldn't last forever, but she felt confident she had a few weeks at least where she wouldn't need to get a job.

"What's it like to be poor?"

"I wouldn't actually know, Draco. I've never been."

"But your parents are Muggles."

"And do you think all Muggles are poor?"

"Well, _yes_."

She was tempted to give him a piece of her mind until she realized he wasn't actually being hateful. At least not intentionally. In some ways he was as ignorant about the Muggle world as she'd been about the magical before she got her letter from Hogwarts.

"They're not. They're just like wizarding families. Some _are_ poor, but there's a wide range. Some Muggle families are even so wealthy _you_ would be impressed."

"Oh. Fascinating."

He asked no further follow-up questions. Yet again she wished she could read his mind. What other sorts of misconceptions lurked within? No doubt he possessed a myriad.

"We're going to need to find somewhere we can stay while we're stuck here. London would be better than here. Easier to blend in."

Hermione couldn't agree with his assessment more. While the thought of needing to consider long-term plans for their new reality filled her with dread and a nervousness she couldn't shake, he was right. In Hogsmeade they would only attract more suspicion. Everyone knew each other in the village. Staying too close to Albus Dumbledore also made her uneasy. His presence and curious eye were complications they couldn't really afford. Much of her opinion about the Headmaster changed since his death and learning more about the part he really played in Harry's life.

The Hog's Head slowly began to empty out of its colorful collection of patrons, but neither Hermione nor Draco made any mention of leaving. They'd been seated at the same table for hours drinking the fire whiskey down to the bottom of the bottle and whispering their plans. Aberforth kept a close eye on them. As the night wore on he continued to glare at them, vainly hoping they'd follow the others outside. Just after midnight when they were the last two left, he approached their table.

"I'm closing. You need to get out."

Hermione was ready to leave the dingy tavern behind. Too many memories of the first Dumbledore's Army meeting and the night they snuck into the castle through Ariana Dumbledore's portrait forever tainted the location. She doubted she would ever be able to fully relax there again.

"Do you have any rooms upstairs available for the night? We're just visiting the area and it's really not safe to Apparate after drinking so much."

The urge to kick Draco under the table was strong. What was he thinking asking to stay the night? She could only imagine what Aberforth must've been thinking about his request. His blue eyes narrowed. She half-expected the wizard to turn them out into the streets. Only when he sighed and offered Draco a stealthy wink did she start to calm down.

"I'm not so old that I've forgotten what it's like to be young and in love."

When she opened her mouth to contradict the wizard, she felt a tight squeeze on her leg underneath the table. Even with a smile on his face she could read Draco's silent request to shut up. Of course it was the least suspicious of reasons for a young couple to request a cheap room in a rundown inn. As uncomfortable as it made her to even contemplate spending the night alone in the same room with Draco, Hermione didn't argue.

"There's one room upstairs ready for guests. First door on the right. It's… _ahem_, charmed to provide privacy."

Hermione's cheeks must've been bright red. Even without a mirror she knew she was blushing at the insinuation that they might require the use of silencing charms in their room. Draco accepted with a soft chuckle.

"Let's go, darling. I'm very _tired_."

All the way across the main room and up the rickety narrow staircase Hermione wanted to curse the cretin. He was playing the part just a little too well. Once inside the too-small room with the door shut behind them, she gave in to the urge to punch him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, it only made him laugh.

"Don't get angry with me, _darling_. You were the one who said we had to do everything we could to keep from appearing suspicious."

It annoyed Hermione that he was correct. Pretending to be sneaking around as lovers certainly made them seem less dodgy than time travelers stuck in the past with no suitable plan. No doubt Aberforth was all too familiar with secretive lovers coming to his tavern. A glance around the filthy room with that thought in mind only served to gross her out even further. Did the wizard even bother to clean the room between illicit rendezvous? She wished she still had the tent in her beaded bag. After they were captured by the Snatchers during the war they never saw it again. Even with the faint smell of cats that never went away she would've been more comfortable.

Yet again that evening Draco seemed to find her discomfort funny. She wasn't sure if it was the filthy condition of the room or the fact they had to share it that made him laugh more.

"I thought you were a spoiled little rich boy. Shouldn't you be more afraid of dirt?"

He laughed. Everything was a joke to him. Did he really find their present situation amusing or was he merely trying to pretend like he wasn't bothered? She couldn't shake the feeling he was every bit as terrified as she was.

"And I thought you were Muggle-Born. Shouldn't you be used to living in filth?"

"You have a lot to learn about Muggles if you seriously believe the lies about them all being little more than livestock."

The smile fell off his face. Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, I suppose I do have a lot to learn."

In an effort to change the subject and prevent any further uncomfortable discussions, Hermione turned her attention back to the accommodations she was expected to sleep in. More than just a bed to her relief, she was pleased to see a dingy, faded sofa pushed up against the wall. It looked terribly uncomfortable but thanks to magic she was able to get it clean and add some more cushioning to it. Draco was impressed.

"I think _I'll_ take the sofa. Be a proper gentleman and all."

"No, I don't think so. Use your own magic on the bed. I think I'll try to be brave and see what the shower looks like."

The bathroom wasn't as horrifying as Hermione expected it would be. Before she dared to touch anything however, she cast deep cleaning spells on every surface. Disappointed that the water trickling out of the shower head was only lukewarm and impervious to spells after countless decades of use, at least she could be happy that she had plenty of her own soap.

As she scrubbed away the day's dirt, she let her mind wander to her next moves. If they truly were stuck, they would have to make up their minds. When nothing came to that instilled any confidence within her, she decided to give up until morning. Perhaps the answer would come to her in a dream or at least when she was sober again.

She scrubbed the inside of her left arm. It still pained her to look at it even months after the crazy bitch carved the scar into her flesh. Usually she just tried to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. A moment of madness made her look down at her arm to see the hateful mark. Expecting to feel the powerful sense of shame she always felt, she was shocked to see nothing but creamy, soft skin. Certain she was drunker than she thought, Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked again.

There was no sign of Bellatrix's reminder of her 'dirty blood'. She reached up to brush her fingertips across the other scar the bitch gave her that night with her cursed blade. It too was gone. Had she gone completely mad? How could her scars on her arm and neck just disappear? Fleur and Bill both tried every spell they knew to remove them. None of them worked. Knowing they'd tried for months to clear up the scars Greyback gave him, she was confident they knew what they were doing.

Further investigation of her body proved she had no scars of any kind. Not the one on her chest from the spell that almost killed her in the Department of Mysteries. Not the one on her knee when she fell off her bicycle when she was seven. Not even the one on her hand where her knife slipped during potions in fourth year. The more she checked, the more she was certain she was losing her mind. Maybe she'd been more injured in the Room of Requirement than she realized. Maybe she was never even in the Room of Requirement to begin with. Was she dreaming? In a coma? Petrified all over again?

Her mind was so preoccupied and her reflexes so slow thanks to the alcohol that when she tried to climb out of the shower, she slipped. Screaming all the way down to the hard tile floor, she was amazed she didn't crack her skull on the side of the bathtub on the way down. The door flew open.

"Hermione, are you all..?"

She wanted to die. Draco took one look at her naked and sprawled on the floor before spinning around with a bright red face. As much as she could appreciate him running in at the sound of her scream, she was sure she'd never been so humiliated in her entire life. For several seconds she could only lay frozen wondering how she'd gotten to such a low place in her life.

"Are you all right? Do you… need some help?"

Draco sounded as uncomfortable as she felt. Knowing she couldn't lay naked on the bathroom floor for the rest of her life, Hermione pushed aside her shame to get up. She wrapped a towel around her body to preserve whatever was left of her modesty.

"My scars are gone. _All_ of them."

He spun back around with a scowl. At once his eyes dipped down to look at the arm he knew his aunt mutilated. She held it out so he could have a better look. There was no sign of any damage.

Without saying a word, the wizard spun back around so his back faced her again. He carefully lifted the left sleeve of his jumper. Through the mirror over the sink Hermione could see it all. Where his Dark Mark should've been was only pale, flawless skin. Sighing softly in relief, Draco pulled his sleeve back down. He didn't look back as he went through the open door.

"Try to be more careful. Next time you could kill yourself and I don't have the time to explain _that_ to the authorities."

The bathroom door slammed shut behind him. Wishing to give him the opportunity to calm down alone, Hermione took her time getting dressed in her pajamas and brushing her teeth. Worries about the future were pushed aside temporarily to revel in the joy at the fact that they'd both been essentially given a blank slate. She wasn't held back by the slur on her arm she could never get rid of and Draco wasn't held back by the Dark Mark she knew he didn't even want. The Room of Requirement gave them both the chance to start over in a time no one knew them. Could they save their loved ones from making the poor decisions that ruined their lives? Or could they just start over entirely as new people?

As she left the bathroom, Hermione started to tell Draco it was free if he wanted it. Before a word could be said, she saw him already laying in a cleaned bed. His back faced her and if he wasn't actually asleep, he was doing a good job making it look like he was. Clearly he didn't want to talk. She could understand and would respect his wishes. Tomorrow would be there soon enough.

After such a bizarre day, Hermione expected to have trouble falling asleep. It surprised her that within moments of laying down on the sofa and covering up with a blanket from her bag, she couldn't keep her eyes open.


End file.
